


Recalibrating

by KhamanV



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, I am not kidding this entire short fic is predicated on a couple large spoilers, Post-Ragnarok, Spoilers, ending spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KhamanV/pseuds/KhamanV
Summary: At the end of it all, the brothers are changed and are still changing. In large ways, and sometimes very small ones.





	Recalibrating

**Author's Note:**

> For Rottenlittleboys, written from a tumblr prompt about Thor's new problems with accuracy when chucking things at the little shit.
> 
> Once again: SPOILERY.

The scroll of paper and the golden feather pen looked out of place even in Loki’s fine hand when contrasted with the brutal, basic architecture of the massive cargo ship turned Asgardian ark. The cargo handler’s desk he’d commandeered was the same as the rest of the vessel - a blocky wad of bluish metal. It was not exactly his style, but like the rest of the lost people, he would have to make do for now. Like them, at least he was alive.

Disregarding that thought, he resumed scratching data along the thick paper. Supplies on board, fuel, the ship’s current state of repair, internal atmospheric controls. And then, the hard numbers. Rough census intake, and alongside them, the mutters coming from the new King of a displaced people. It would be a better use of his time to transcribe all the information into the data banks of the ship later, but old habits died hard. And, if he were going to be honest with himself - rare - old habits could be a comfort. This was something he knew how to do. It was neutral clerk work, and it was useful.

“How much of Asgard did we save? How many people?” Thor kept pacing, wadded up scraps of paper jumping from one broad palm to another and being discarded as he went.

Loki looked at the numbers and said nothing at first. The ship was entirely full of refugees and that handful of eager Sakaraan rebels. He could have used more ships, but… he made do.

The showiness of his arrival aside, the reality of the numbers before him was not as uplifting as it could have been. Guilt hid deep under there. As always. The work was neutral. The numbers were not. “Enough to begin again,” he said instead. “Enough to be a new Asgard, somewhere.” Earth, suggested Odin before he died. Loki didn’t know what he thought of all that, so he shifted on his stool, his soft boots scraping the metal floor. A thud caught his ear and he glanced over to see Thor patting at his shoulder, giving the offending steel girder that doubled as ugly decorative architecture as hot a look as he could with one eye. Loki perked up. “I’m sure if we do go to Earth, that angry old arsehole you like with the one eye would be happy to give you some advice. Fury? I think his name was Fury.”

One of the wads of paper in Thor’s hand began to arc towards him, and then swung wide, hitting the floor. Thor stood there, looking frustrated, but not really with Loki.

Loki leaned back on the bench, still cheerfully wry and obviously prodding for danger. “Of course you _had_ to go all the way to emulate Father. Couldn’t just take the spear and the crown and the family history of destructive behavior, you had to go and get your face gouged half off to complete the look.” He shook his head for extra drama. “And everyone called _me_ the dramatic one.”

Another wad of paper took its shot, whiffing neatly past Loki’s head with a clearance of a good half-foot. Loki watched it go by, slightly chuckling. Thor muttered at him, not at all under his breath. “I wasn’t the one endorsing bad community theater projects, Loki.”

“I think it’s _terribly_ important to support the arts, Thor.” He set the pen down and watched Thor continue to look more irritable. “Can’t let little minds get all stodgy. Even more important now, I think.”

Thor didn’t say anything.

Loki nodded, relenting a little. “Try moving your head around more. Wiggle a bit before you throw, like cats do before they jump. You’ve got to make the one eye compensate for the lack of the other. Same with moving. Check to your right more often before you walk or back up or whatnot. It’ll become habit.”

“Read that in one of your books?” Thor sounded dour, but he tried it, swiveling his head more widely to get a look at his right. He wrinkled his nose a bit as he moved in closer to the pole and then further back, gauging his position.

“That, and for the hell of it I’d wander around with one eye actually closed for hours under the illusive patch when I was being Odin, see what it was like. Method acting, if you want.”

“You _are_ the dramatic one, Loki.”

Loki shrugged, then paused for a long moment, as if to consider. Then he studied his brother. “Aim at my head, step back, now wobble your head…” He watched Thor do what he said, gamely enough, and he spoke carefully. “You’re off to the left too much, now you’re overcompensating. Move your damn- there. Take the shot.”

The wad of paper flew neatly flew through the green flash of the illusion he'd left in place, high on the cheek.

“Perfect,” said Loki behind Thor, stepping back now that he’d done his part to show his brother how to recalibrate his aim. Couldn’t have a war-god that couldn’t go to war right. A good hearty, messy brawl was all right, but he was going to have to be able to figure out how to get his finesse back, too. “Practice like that.”

“Saw that coming.” Thor glanced at him and went to lean on the recessed porthole window of the ship.

“Well, it _is_ a damned old trick. I suppose I should have realized you’d catch up to it eventually.” Loki considered going back to his seat with its pile of a few things he’d gathered were, and where his cloak had been artlessly tossed aside for now - although in full truth, it was also neatly hiding a small, blue cube. He felt the urge to go and nudge it with his toe, make sure it was still there. The Casket, a few gems, other treasures from the vault… those could be pocketed away in magical ways. The Infinity Stone wasn’t something to toy with, not with any magic he knew.

Nor was its seeker.

He resisted that urge to remind himself of its presence, but still. He should say something about the damned thing, and definitely to Thor. He didn’t know what he should say. He wasn’t even fully certain why he’d grabbed it. Insurance, perhaps. Or perhaps the simple, passable thought of ‘ _well it wouldn’t be wise to just let it tumble through space where anyone could fly by and grab it, you know._ ’ He didn’t know what the true answer was yet. Just that he’d done it. “Earth, though.”

“It’s what he suggested.”

“He said a lot of things in life.” Loki looked away. “Some were even true.”

“What he said at the end was true. Endings have a way of making that happen. Nothing left to lie about.”

_Not always_ , Loki could have said. But like everything else he might have said, he didn’t.

He might try to practice, though. Maybe. Later.

“Do you think it’s right to go back to Earth?” Loki said instead, and he wondered if he was making a mistake.

“Probably not,” said Thor. “But like a lot of things in life, it should work out all right.”

_Not always_ , Loki could have said.

A few minutes later, he wished he had.

_~Fin_


End file.
